


I Thought the World of You

by Jaxxie24



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly feels, Gen, Loki and Thor have a little chat, Post Movie, because Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12706575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxxie24/pseuds/Jaxxie24
Summary: The heart is a peculiar thing. At one time, Loki believed he understood its inner workings, but recent events testify to the contrary. CH 3: The Warriors Three are dead. Loki takes it upon himself to give the news to Thor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Mushu voice* I LIIIIIIIIVE. Hey guys <3 While working on all the updates to stories, I saw the new Thor, and couldn't get the muse to go away. Hope you enjoy this little thing~

The heart is a peculiar thing.

Unpredictable, depending on its host. At one time, Loki believed he understood its inner workings, but recent events testify to the contrary.

The god of mischief can masterfully toy with hearts that belong to others, yet—though he’s loath to admit it—does not comprehend the full extent of their capabilities.

_Oh, Loki. Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself._

The heart can strengthen one to complete any task set before them, or it can enhance fear one harbors in the base of their being. It’s just as capable of being a man’s enemy as it is of being his asset—and Loki is cursed with the one. No matter how much he may desire to be immune of its complexity, he can’t tear it from his chest.

Understanding, knowledge, perception—these are his allies. Loki wears them like armor; feeling them, unnecessary. Because of this, he’s possessed a natural skill for utilizing what’s both within and outside his realm of control to benefit his own purposes. But the heart, despite its potential, is one force he’s never consciously dared to harness, for fear it would turn on him.

Loki _understands_ the chaos of his mind; it is within his nature. He does not, however, understand a chaotic heart.

 _Easier to let it burn._ He wants to; but recently it won’t stop influencing his thoughts, won't cease bleeding through his actions.

How irritating.

Loki’s steady gaze rests on the man who incites this type of reflection more than any other.

Thor stands solitary before a wide pane of glass on the observatory deck, through which one can observe the fiery light of stars piercing through interstellar dust. He, too, seems to be lost in maze of thoughts.

“I may only have one good eye,” Says a deep, familiar voice, “but don’t think I’m unaware of your presence here, brother.”

Loki perceives this as an invitation to approach. “Only because I choose not to hide it from you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Thor says with a faint smirk. Loki doesn’t respond, only watches as the humor drains from his brothers features till they’re as grave as before. There’s weariness in the blue of his eye that the trickster doesn’t quite like.

“What is it?” Loki asks, uncertain he wants to know the answer, not entirely sure why he asked the question. When Thor answers, the trickster senses the words don’t come easily.

“I’m…I can't be the leader our father was.” 

 _Our_.

Loki shakes his head once, gaze shifting to the window. _Witless oaf_. “You don’t have to be.”

“Was that you attempting comfort, Loki?” There’s a sarcastic disbelief in Thor’s voice that fills him with petty aversion.

He scoffs. “Of course not.”

Thor allows it to pass without further commentary, to Loki’s relief, though there’s a slight change in his expression. Instead of what he anticipates, Thor laughs. It’s not an entirely joyful sound—it’s dry, bittersweet. “It does surprise me.”

“What?” Loki’s eyes flicker up to rest on Thor, who hasn’t turned from gazing at the stars.

“I believed that our paths diverged a long time ago,” he begins, “but I now see that separation wasn’t the purpose. Our paths equipped us for what lies ahead, for what we shall face together.”

The prince sighs. “Dear gods. Spare me the sentiment.”

“Perhaps,” Thor laughs again, and this time it’s a warmer sound. Loki feels his brother’s hand clap the back of his neck. It’s… affectionate. Like something they might have done when they were children. “Perhaps two sons of Odin on the throne of Asgard will suffice in the all-father’s absence.”

He’s surprised. It takes the Loki off guard in the way their father did before his death, when he spoke of his love for the brothers as equals, despite everything he'd done to earn his hate. The younger braves a look at his brother, who's already turned toward him.

There it is again, that clench in trickster's chest he's learning to tolerate.

Thor’s tone takes on more weight when he speaks again. “ _If_ you’re planning to stay.”

After a moment of hesitation, Loki lifts his own arm to mimic the gesture, sliding it over Thor’s shoulder in a tentative grip. 

“I’m here,” he says, voice quiet, not entirely sure why he means it to sound reassuring.

The heart is a peculiar thing.


	2. Where the Brave Shall Live Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki can't sleep. Neither can Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I've decided to continue this a little. Thanks for reading, and for all your comments on the last chapter.
> 
> P.S- this chapter heavily references Thor: Dark world and Thor: Ragnarok moments.

_Cold_. It's a numbing sensation, beginning in the tips of his fingers, burrowing in the hollow of his chest. Loki is no stranger to the feeling. This particular cold, however, seems to harbor an effect beyond the physical form.

"Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice, for those who have died a glorious death." His voice is low and soft; it falls upon deaf ears. Loki wonders why he speaks the words at all.

The god of mischief had managed to locate a corner of the Grandmaster's ship that's quiet—save the hum of running engines—for a needed moment of solitude. Perhaps to make sense of the conflicts in his mind and heart away from prying eyes… though he's beginning to suspect the futility of that ambition.

Intuition of that nature has never come easy to him, despite his formidable talent of the mind.

_I love you, my sons._

The trickster closes his eyes, retrieving the memory of the All-father's final moments. Of course, Loki doesn't strive to remember for the sake of sentiment—he likes to think he's beyond something so trivial—but rather as one who gazes at something one last time before discarding it for good. 

He can't help noticing how emphatically different this feels, compared to the fiery rage prompted by Frigga's murder. All he feels now is the cold, seeping into his veins like icy needles. (A morbid part of him wonders which of the two he'll feel when Thor dies; he's not certain why the notion disturbs him.)

"I bid you take your place among them in the halls of Valhalla…" the god of mischief murmurs, but his eyes open the instant he hears a different voice join in the last verse. The presence of another startles him, perhaps more than it should've, as if he'd been caught doing something shameful.

Loki collects himself quickly. "…where the brave shall live forever."

Despite the temptation, he doesn't turn to look—only listens to the advancing footsteps against the metallic floor. Loki already knows just who it is that moves to stand beside him as he sits.

"What are you doing out here?" The gruff voice is unmistakably Thor's, sounding as if he's recently woken from sleep.

In contrast, Loki's is a dangerous calm. Alert. "Am I not allowed to pay my respects?"

"I didn't expect it of you," Thor admits, and Loki wonders if there's an edge in the comment, or if he's just imagining one. An unfortunate side effect of having far more enemies than friends; sometimes it's easier to assume they're all enemies.

"Because Odin is not my father, nor I his son? Or because it's your natural inclination to expect the least of me?" Though he tries to sound sardonic, Loki's voice is fraught with weariness of the war between them he now lacks passion to fight (for reasons he can't quite articulate).

"Odin was your father as much as he was mine," Thor responds, sounding more alert now, and it's more than he expects. A peaceful alternative to the verbal sparring they've accustomed themselves to. Loki almost misses it when the older sits beside him on the floor, continuing. "We're all that's left of them."

By "them," Loki knows instinctively he refers to Odin and Frigga. But what's new to him is the gravity of the statement, a thought that hadn't entirely registered in his mind. He can't deny the truth of it.

"Relics of the past," the prince says. That, at least, is familiar territory.  _The irony._  "Till we follow them in death."

Thor chuckles to himself, and Loki notices that for a second, the scar beneath his lost eye is indistinguishable from laughter lines. "Not you, brother," he says. "Death has yet to go up against you and win."

Loki looks away, sensing Thor has more to say. "Perhaps."

He doesn't wish to tarry on the subject of his "death" any longer than necessary, despite the fact that, now that they have all the time in the world to iron out the complexities of the past. The journey to earth is taking a bit longer than expected.

"How did you do it, anyway?" Thor asks.  _Predictable_. The god of thunder turns towards him, and Loki grudgingly shifts to give Thor some shoulder room— _the massive oaf_.

"Subtlety has never been your forte."

"And sincerity has never been yours," retorts his brother, "but try to manage it now."

The trickster's brows furrow in distaste, and he manages a look at Thor. "I thought we agreed that open communication is terribly uncharacteristic of us, brother. Does it matter so much to you?"

Thor's eye narrows. "Deflection." After a full sixty seconds, his forehead, which has been wrinkled in curiosity, smooths. Apparently he's come to a satisfactory conclusion. "So it is true."

"What is?" Loki tries to sound passive. He's wary, but not indifferent.

"Heimdall suspected there was no trickery in your death." Thor's mouth pulls into a faint grin, as if it had been a suspicion he shared.

"Heimdall is a fool," Loki mutters under his breath. They both know it isn't true.

"Why hide it from me?"

_Why hide it,_ Loki thinks? Perhaps because the god of mischief is far too prideful to admit that his fantastical death on Svartalfheim wasn't as much a product of his brilliant master plan as it was of sheer luck and regenerative magic.

"It's far easier to convince people of a lie that entertains their expectations rather than a messy truth that contradicts them," Loki says with a shrug, not entirely sure why he's answering the question at all. "I simply allowed you, and others, to believe what you wished."

"Do you truly think so little of me?" Thor poses the question that Loki had asked during their time in Sakaar, and for a moment, he isn't certain of how he should proceed.

_I thought the world of you_ , he remembers Thor saying to him. A response that shocked the wayward prince. Though he suspects they may be true, words in kind don't quite make it past his silver tongue.

"It doesn't matter what I think," he says instead. The trickster definitely isn't ready to breach this topic. His inability to understand these intricacies makes him feel defenseless, and he hates to be at a disadvantage. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't Asgard's King be resting?"

It works, for now. Thor's silence piques the trickster's interest, and he turns to see a troubled shadow fall over his brother's face. Loki's eyes narrow in curiosity. Apparently, he isn't the only one using tricks to avoid a topic. It dawns on the trickster that Thor's been using the situation to distract himself from something.

"More dreams?" he guesses, tentative.

Thor avoids his brother's eyes when he responds a beat later, instead, staring at the floor between them. "I thought they would stop after Ragnarok."

Loki considers it a moment. "Asgard falling to ruin, you said."

"I see it every time I close my eyes," Thor murmurs, at which point Loki gives him a look. He scowls. " _Don't say it_."

Loki almost ignores the warning, but then reconsiders. If he's going to be electrocuted for a snide comment, he would rather it be more elegant than that. Instead, he wants to press more into the topic of the dream, of which his curiosity hasn't been satiated.

"Well it makes sense it would be fresh in your mind," the god of mischief says, tactful as ever in his redirection. "It was your home. You saw it burn."

"I saw  _our_  home burn."

Silence settles between the brothers. Thor uses that possessive a lot, lately— _our_. The trickster usually ignores it. This time, however, it may be useful to him in what he wants to ask of Asgard's King. Loki only hesitates a moment before he re-positions himself to face Thor more directly, ignoring the elder's questioning look.

"Our home," Loki says, his voice level. "Let me see."

It takes a moment for Thor to register the gravity of the request. The god of thunder doesn't move. He looks skeptical, and the trickster can see visible aversion to the idea of sharing the memory—or perhaps of experiencing it again—flash across his scarred face. There's tension in the King's shoulders, and his unease is so palpable that Loki laughs humorlessly.

"You still don't trust me, brother?" More words from the past, ones that he uses with great intention.

"Would  _you_?" Thor plays along. Though he's still clearly skeptical, the god of thunder eventually parallels Loki's movement, so that they face each other.

"It varies from moment to moment." Loki lifts his hand before any protests can be uttered, pressing it to Thor's warm temple, and the brothers' eyes fall closed.

He expertly retrieves the memory of the dream, tugging it to the surface, just as Frigga had taught him so long ago.

_Loki feels the heat first._

_The air rains embers and ashes in a deadly descent, burning his eyes and skin. Smoke fills Loki's senses, clouding them,_ choking  _him._

_It takes a minute of disorientation to register his surroundings, but he recognizes the bridge beneath his feet. A perfect view from which to watch Asgard burn._

_Loki resists the urge to cover his face, to shield himself from the sight. Instead, he lifts his eyes—and there it is._

_Asgard, decorated in hungry, golden flames._

Loki severs the connection when he's seen enough. Despite the trickster's best efforts, his hand shakes a little when he pulls it away.

"Satisfied?" Thor's eye is still closed as he attempts to regain control of his breathing, which had picked up pace.

"Indubitably," Loki murmurs, eyes fixed on his own unsteady hand—thumb brushing back and forth over his fingers until the sensation falls away.

"What do you make of it?"

Loki translates this as  _what was the purpose of making me relive the horror?_  And it was horror indeed. He might feel remorse if one, he thought himself capable of it, and two—if he hadn't had a purpose in mind from the beginning.

"It's a fulfilled prophecy," the younger brother analyzes. "It no longer holds power. It's just a dream."

Thor turns away as if this was the result, or lack thereof, he expected. "It doesn't feel like just a dream."

Loki's hands tremble with a different kind of energy now, and emerald-green light emits from his fingers as he conjures. He feels Thor's gaze return to him, but the trickster doesn't look up.

"I know it doesn't," he says after a moment. Then—Loki sighs. "Don't read into this. What I'm about to do is strictly for my own sanity. It'd be terribly irritating if you interrupted my solitude every time you had a bad dream."

Without asking permission this time around, Loki places both hands with their swirling magic on either side of Thor's forehead; the other immediately recoils.

Thor's right shoots up to grab Loki's in a vice grip that's hard enough to break bone. Loki can see his brother's clenched jaw out of the corner of his eye—it must be painful, having something torn from your mind like this—but it doesn't deter him. He might even enjoy it  _just_  a little- as recompense for the electrocution device Thor left embedded in his shoulder for hours till he was found by the "revolution".

The tension leaves Thor's body when the light from Loki's hands diminishes. The prince grins a little.

"What the hell was that?" his brother growls, and there's definite anger in both tone and expression. "Loki, what have you done?"

"Get some sleep, brother," Loki chides, only wincing slightly when he touches the place where Thor gripped his arm. He picks himself up to move a… safe distance away, in case Thor decides to lash out further. "I think you'll find no more flames await you there."

With that, the trickster is on his feet. He's had enough for tonight, he decides.

Enduring even a brief glimpse of Thor's dream was harrowing, and yet.

He no longer feels cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo my interpretation of Loki's death is based off of an interview I read with the writers or something of the second movie, who said that Tom wasn't told Loki would survive his "death"- he played that scene as if it were his true farewell to Thor. I loved the idea and ran with it. 
> 
> Also more Loki magic, because that scene where he retrieves memories from Valkarie is SO freaking cool. 
> 
> Update: I've gotten questions and different theories about what Loki actually did for Thor at the end. I meant to leave it open to interpretation (for the time being, at least). I may touch on it in another chapter, but for now, what do YOU think Loki's magic did? ☺️ I have something In mind, but I'm loving the speculation. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!! You guys are the best!


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warriors Three are confirmed dead; Loki takes it upon himself to give Thor the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are great. This update is an unedited piece of crap. xD Onward~

When Heimdall tells Loki the news, he isn’t surprised.

If the ‘Warriors Three’ had survived Hela’s tyrannous reign, he’s quite certain they would have made an appearance by now. Threatened him a few more times, perhaps, or at least tried to make good on threats of the past. But they aren’t here—they haven’t come, and now Loki knows for certain what he already suspected.

Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg are dead.

Still… it’s strange.  He doesn’t feel the gratification he’d imagined he would after hearing of their peril. He’s tried to bring it about many times himself, because it was to be triumphant. Loki was to celebrate in the wake of their final moments, letting them cower in his presence till they knew in their hearts that Thor’s was nothing compared to the trickster’s glory.

At least… he _thought_ that was what he wanted. A long time ago, when he was younger, when he had not quite mastered his rage. Now, when the moment finally arrives, he can’t gloat, he can’t grin, he can’t laugh—all he can do is stare blankly.

His voice is surprisingly calm when he speaks. “Does Thor know?”

Heimdall shakes his head. His fiery eyes seem dull for a moment—solemn—weighed with the weariness of one who sees horrors beyond imagining. In his youth, Loki often wished he could wield the powers of the man who guarded the Bifrost for so many years. He wished he could see beyond worlds, divide the fabric of time and space; the thought had been so tantalizing to him back then. Now, Loki recognizes it for the curse that it is.

The god of mischief sighs. “I should be the one to tell him.”

“Do you think that would be wise, my prince?”

The words ‘ _my prince_ ’ almost give him pause, words long buried in the past, but Loki doesn’t miss a beat. “I can handle Thor’s temper.”

“Or incite it.” Heimdall is calm. Not quite challenging him, but there’s something that lurks beneath the words that makes Loki turn to face him.

His green eyes are cold, calculating—and finally, he laughs. “If you truly didn’t want me to tell him, you would have done it yourself.”

 

 ###

 

Loki finds Thor sometime later, solitary in his quarters, without too much effort.

The trickster’s gaze travels up and down the rather plain room before he announces his presence.  It’s small, compared to the other living quarters on the ship Thor could have taken for himself. Loki can count only two pieces of furniture: a bed in the left corner with sheets strewn about, and a large mirror with linings in the frame like silver vines.

Thor stands before this mirror, holding his eyepatch. Loki can see angry, marred flesh that was once his brother’s eye through its reflection.

It’s strange… Loki can hardly recognize the man before him. His hair and impeded eyesight are not the only notable changes; there are lines of weariness on his face one normally acquires with age, not trials by fire (in the literal sense, anyway.) His shoulders are straight, but Loki senses his hidden strain.

As far as he knows, Thor resumed sleeping after Loki dealt with the remnants of the Ragnarok dream, but sleeplessness still casts a dim shadow over his uncharacteristically stoic face.

Thor’s good eye flickers up after a moment, and the prince knows he’s been spotted.

“What is it?” Thor asks, managing a small smile as if to assure he is still of sound mind. He puts on the eyepatch.

Loki debates about how to proceed. “You may want to sit down. I have troubling news.”

“Odin is dead, Loki,” Thor laughs, but the sound is bitter. “Asgard burned. I doubt anything you say will be as troubling.”

Loki almost scoffs at that. Even as Thor speaks, forbidden cargo from the vault of Asgard sits tucked away in the prince’s chambers, invisible to the naked eye. Oh, there are a great many things he could say to trouble the mighty Thor—but he holds back. _Those_ are secrets he plans to keep to himself, locked away beneath his silver tongue. At least… for now. Until he can find a way to untangle himself from the shadows of the past, until he can ensure survival from those with whom he mistakenly formed alliances.

“You’d be surprised.”

“ _Tell_ _me_ ,” Thor says, turning fully toward the other. It’s difficult not to gaze back at the patch of leather where his eye should be. Or perhaps, it’s difficult to put into words what he must say.

“The Warriors Three…”  He trails off—wondering just how many ways he might arrange the truth—but finds he doesn’t have to. Thor does it for him.

“…are dead.”

Loki’s brow furrows. He’s suspicious of Thor’s knowing, but somewhat surprised. “Let’s not finish each other’s sentences.”

“Cease your mockery, Loki, I have no patience for it.” Thor’s voice does not betray him, but his chest deflates, and the lines of weariness afflicting his face seem deeper than before, as if Loki confirmed a looming fear he knew in his heart to be true.

The god of mischief tilts his head, green eyes narrowing. His tone is colder than before. “Nor I for your bleeding heart.”

“Shall I remind you that their passing is your doing?” Thor responds, the depth of his voice sending hints of danger. Loki can’t help but watch for signs of an impending storm—figuratively _and_ literally—though he doesn’t back down. It’s not in his nature.

“Their passing is _Hela’s_ doing. I know that we have a similar aesthetic, but don’t confuse us,” he says in his own defense, because no one else will.

It’s true, there are many similarities between him and dear sister; Loki is arguably more like her than Thor will ever be. They both preferred chaos to the heavy hand of order. Still… Hela isn’t what he has in mind for the future of Asgard, and Loki’s quite content with the troubles of having _one_ sibling.

Thor scoffs. “And who is responsible for Hela’s reign in the first place?”

Suddenly, Loki no longer feels like being ‘delicate’ with the subject. He hates that they’re revisiting this argument, even if he’s too stubborn to back down. “ _Odin_ is responsible. Odin, when she was conceived. Odin, when he hid the truth from us. Odin, when he conditioned her to the bloodlust of war. Shall I continue?”  

For a moment, there’s silence.

“You’re not blameless,” Thor growls at him, for lack of anything else to say, Loki thinks.

The god of mischief shrugs. “No one is blameless.”

Silence again. Thor seems to be tired of this argument, too, because he stops sending verbal attacks. (Loki is much more skilled with those, anyhow.)

Instead, the newly crowned King of Asgard shuts his eye tightly and clenches his fists—no doubt thinking of his lost childhood friends, and how to handle the confirmation of their deaths. Loki watches the skin of his knuckles turn white from the pressure.

That’s the trouble with Thor _,_ Loki decides. He feels too much, internalizes guilt that oftentimes does not belong to him.

He’s about to speak again, but Thor beats him to it. “How?”

_How?_

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Loki says, leaning against the entrance of Thor’s quarters to find a more comfortable position.

Thor’s muscles relax; his knuckles settle into their natural color. It’s clear he’s making a conscious effort to keep his voice level. “How did they die?”

The question reminds Loki of a different time—long before Ragnarok, when he had asked his brother a similar question. Invisible, icy claws slide into his chest at the memory. _Did she suffer?_ Thor hadn’t answered him then.

“Their hearts stopped, I’d imagine.” In truth, Loki doesn’t know how they died—Heimdall hadn’t offered details— though it’s not difficult to imagine what Hela might have done to them.

The Warriors Three shared Thor’s unfortunate tendency to blunder into fights without thinking, relying on the (faulty) belief that they were impenetrable. He won’t be surprised if that sort of thinking kills Thor, someday, too.

The god of thunder looks toward Loki. “Show some respect.”

“They showed me little. I’m perfectly happy to return the favor.” Loki shifts his weight off the entryway as he speaks, not bothering to conceal what little venom he can manage. (Part of Loki _wants_ to incite Thor’s anger, to cleanse it from his system.)

If that’s his intention, it seems to work. Thor’s voice grows in volume. “Then why are you here?”

“Apparently to inform you of what you already know.”  

It’s true; Loki owes The Warriors Three nothing. They were “friends” outwardly, yes, but their loyalty would always lie with Thor. He’s loath to admit that he ever cared about what they thought of him, despises that their approval had been something he sought in his younger years.

A part of him is content with their passing. But strangely, not all of him is content, though he’s at a loss to understand what else he would want.  

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, who’s becoming too overwhelmed with grief to even spar with him properly, and his gaze softens just a fraction. The anger had fizzled out like a fire that begins strong, but doesn’t have enough momentum to catch. He sighs, hating the whole situation—hating Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg for dying, when Th— _Asgard_ has lost so much already.

Thor speaks again after a moment, but his voice is quieter than Loki has heard it in a long time. “I can’t believe they’re gone.”

Unfortunately, it may be time for a new approach.

Loki hesitates before advancing a step into Thor’s chambers, not entirely partial to the idea of being the one to comfort his brother. It’s so much more difficult than angering him. Then again… if they’re to survive the journey to Midgard, the ship would need a king who could think straight, not a grief crazed shell.

He should know. Odin was such a shell, when Loki returned to Asgard from the dark world: taking the throne from him had been child’s play.

“Not gone. Feasting in Valhalla,” he says finally. “Considering our plight, I’d say their existences are much more comfortable than ours. Don’t pity them.” They’re empty words. _Bullshit_ , as Midgardians would say. He knows what it is to lose someone close, and true grief is not easily soothed.  

Thor stares at him with a hint of disbelief. “Do you feel nothing?”

“I’m teaching you,” Loki corrects, not quite answering the question. “You’re King of Asgard now. You can’t appear defeated before a people that just had everything ripped from them—lives, property, their home.”

“Feeling loss is not weakness.”

“They may yet be overcome by their despair if they see you succumb to yours.”

_It’s not a difficult concept,_ Loki thinks. Surely, Thor could understand his logic.

“If a king is not allowed to mourn the deaths of his friends, this rule is not for me,” he says stubbornly, though both brothers know he doesn’t really mean it.

“You have no idea how much I’d like to hear that under different circumstances,” Loki laughs, unable to ignore the humor, despite the timing’s impropriety. He makes a good effort to sober before continuing, however, so Thor won’t be tempted to ignore him. Still, his next words are difficult to say—they nearly catch in his throat. “But this rule _is_ for you. It was always for you.”

When Thor doesn’t respond, Loki takes a few more steps inside, lifting his chin, spreading his arms wide before letting them drop to his sides. “If you must express your grief, show it to me. But do not let our people see it for themselves.”

“You have wisdom, Loki,” Thor murmurs after a few seconds of consideration. It’s one of the surprisingly genuine admissions that takes Loki aback when he hears it. “But grief does not mean defeat. I would have the people know me as one of them, that their pain is mine, and that I am not above them.”

Though he disagrees, Loki dips his head. Thor is going to do what he wishes, regardless— he always has. “As you wish.”

He’s about to leave when he feels Thor’s hand catch his shoulder, stopping him. The grip is firm, but not harsh. Loki turns toward him expectantly.

“How long did you know of their deaths?” Thor asks.

After weighing his options, Loki decides to tell the truth. The information is worth little to him anyway. “Heimdall told me a few hours ago."

It’s difficult to resist the urge to slip away. 

“He kept it from me,” Thor murmurs.  “Before I speak with him, if there’s anything else I need to know, tell me now.”

Loki hesitates a split second. His mind involuntarily slips to the vast source of power he hides, naught but a few chambers away from where they stand, but he can’t say a word. He can’t; if he does… no. No, it’s not time yet.

Without blinking an eye, the god of lies shakes his head. “Nothing else.”

Thor lets go, and Loki leaves the room. He's careful not to move too quickly, until he hears the sound of the automatic door sliding back into place, barring him from Thor's sight. Only then does he release the breath he's been holding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you enjoyed this rambling continuation of weirdness, let me know- it makes a writer's day ;) 
> 
> ATTENTION, I have a question for you! I'm thinking of writing a more plot-driven (AU) story that continues after the cut-scene of Thor and Loki looking out at the arrival of Thanos' ship. Would you guys be more interested in: 
> 
> A), Thor and Loki being caught by Thanos together somehow (and possibly tortured, idk yet)  
> OR  
> B), Loki being caught by Thanos somehow, and Thor looks for him? 
> 
> Let me know in the comments if you want to vote and help me out. I can't decide between the two.


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